


misery loves company.

by thychesters



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Jason Todd and Damian Wayne are Siblings, Jason being a Big Brother, Sickfic, damian has a fever and jason said 'nope we're going inside'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27808126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thychesters/pseuds/thychesters
Summary: Jason finds a sick Damian while out on patrol and decides it would be in poor taste to leave the kid out in the cold. He may not have gotten the older brother he wanted before, but that doesn't mean he can't be one himself.based on a tumblr prompt.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 208





	misery loves company.

**Author's Note:**

> for someone who hasn't read a ton of jason or damian, i sure talk about them a lot /shh
> 
> based on a prompt from a drabble/dialogue meme with the lines "Oh, fuck off." / "Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not." / "Ew, your hand is sweaty." some liberties were taken. also, i hate titling things, lmao.

Jason is equal parts unamused and unsurprised to find Damian hunkered down on a rooftop on the south end. Unamused because the issue lies in that this is his territory, and it had been an agreement that none of the bats would verge on it. (If anything, he’s more annoyed than unamused.)

Unsurprised, because that’s never stopped any of them from encroaching on it, anyway. He might as well have a sign out that says “You’re not welcome, but come on in because I know you’re going to.”

As he falls into a crouch upon reaching the rooftop, Damian greets him with his usual attitude and snark. There’s an edge to it that piques Jason’s interest as he stands, the cadence of his voice off just so, and so he folds his arms and gives the boy a stare down through the eyes of his helmet.

“You’re a little far from home,” he says to the ten year-old—twelve? Jason can never remember exactly, and what memories of Damian he has are a bit fuzzy prior to being thrown in the Pit. Talia hadn’t discouraged Jason interacting with Damian at all, but Ra’s hadn’t quite made it a point to put the two of them in a room together. From what he can recall, Jason was mostly good at hitting people back and… well, he’d rather not dig into that if he can help it.

A line of tension settles across his shoulders as he waits for Batman to descend upon them, because that’s the last person he wants to see. He was having a decent night, too.

Raising a finger to the side of his helmet, Jason filters through a couple comm. lines thanks to a patch from Oracle, but the bulk of the chatter he gets is from a police scanner.

“I’m well aware of that, Todd,” Damian’s saying as Jason lowers his hand, cutting off an update on an apprehended break-in at the hardware store on Clinton.

He gives him a moment, but when he does not elaborate further opts for: “Okay, and…?”

“And I’ll be out of your hair momentarily, what little of it you have,” Damian grouses. “Though I’d like to remind you there are many other rooftops you could be staking a claim to. Perhaps some crimes to stop as well, if you’re feeling so inclined.”

Behind his helmet, Jason raises an eyebrow. He may not know the kid as well as Dick does, but he’s been around long enough to put two-and-two together that something’s up. Plus, Damian hasn’t so much as raised his head to look at him from where he’s tucked him against the lip of the roof.

A sigh escaping him, Jason moves to kneel beside him—close enough for a decent vantage point, and far away enough he’s just out of range if Damian takes a swing at him. As he stoops down, he almost lets out a low whistle.

“Wow, you look like crap,” he supplies helpfully. He isn’t wrong, to say the least. Damian glowers back at him with his usual scowl when Jason is in his presence, but this one falters like it’s too much effort, and he’s exerting most of what he has in keeping himself upright. Barely, at that. Damian’s face is drawn and when it comes down to it, he looks… utterly miserable.

Damian mutters something that would have Alfred’s eyebrows crawling up his forehead and toward the back of his balding head.

Jason mimics the image, cocking an eyebrow.

“You got a couple dollars for the swear jar?” The helmet detaches with a pneumatic hiss as Jason goes to remove it and tuck it under his arm, and all the while Damian watches him with exhaustion rolling off of him in waves. Behind the lenses of his mask, he narrows his eyes as he scrutinizes the kid. He only watches with mild trepidation as Jason goes to remove his glove and then press a palm to his clammy forehead. “You’re burning up. They let you out here like this?”

“Ew, your hand is sweaty,” Damian mutters, but the turn of his head isn’t enough to dislodge him. If anything, he leans toward him.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

With his other hand he works to dislodge his mask, and Damian struggles a little against him, frowning and making to push him with shoves that are too weak. It’s worrisome, too, and then Damian’s staring back at him with eyes that are glassy and wide. Something like panic flickers through them, Jason thinks, but then it hardens back into his scowl.

There’s an edge to Jason’s voice when he asks: “How long have you been sick?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Damian murmurs with a half-hearted attempt to lean away. “I was only resting for a moment. I’ll return to my patrol route soon. Your concern is noted but unnecessary.”

Jason lets out an “uh-huh” and drops his hand.

Damian sniffs, retreating back into the ledge. He’s running on fumes, and, from the looks of it, he has been for a while.

For a few minutes Jason gives him a good stare down before eventually settling and coming to a decision with a sigh. He nods, clapping his hands on his knees. Damian watches as he slips his glove on and moves to stand.

“That settles it. You’re coming with me, kid.”

A scoff.

“Hardly. At most I need a moment’s rest, not… gallivanting wherever with the likes of you.”

“At most you probably need to see a doctor or pass out for a couple hours,” Jason comes back with. He holds Damian’s mask just out of reach, despite his futile attempts to grab for it. “Call it gallivanting all you want, but I’m not going to leave you out on a roof in the middle of December with a fever.”

“I don’t need your assistance.”

“Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.”

Damian levels him with an exhausted look and insists that no, he isn’t, he’s perfectly fine where he is, but the weak struggle he puts up and the fists that feel more like brotherly knocks than anything are a testament to just how out of it he is. As Jason wraps an arm around him it’s like holding a furnace, and Damian shivers against him.

He finds it a little unnerving how small and easy to hold he is. Damian’s next shove is weak, and Jason moves with him so as to keep his equilibrium somewhat balanced.

“Can you hang on?” he asks, but he lists beside him. Damian pauses in thought, and then nods.

“My mask,” he says, to which Jason makes quick work of shoving the domino mask deep into a pocket and slipping his helmet from under his arm. Despite his grumbling, he slips it over Damian’s head.

“There, now the three people out and ten stories below definitely won’t recognize you.” He mumbles something unintelligible as Jason stoops so that he can climb onto his back, and then Jason can feel the cool surface of his helmet pressing against the back of his neck. Damian’s grip is looser than he would have liked, but it tightens as Jason pushes himself back to his feet. “Promise you won’t hurl in it?”

There’s too long a pause before: “...no.”

“Excellent, that’s exactly what I thought you’d say.”

Traversing the rooftops back to Jason’s Safehouse of the Week proves more difficult than he would have hoped, but it’s about what he expected.

They have to stop a few times as Damian whines in the back of his throat and nudges Jason’s hips with his foot. By the time they get there it feels like Damian’s barely conscious, and he makes a soft noise of protest as he’s lowered to his feet while Jason wiggles open the window that tends to stick.

He’s met with little resistance as he shepherds Damian inside, and less still as he motions for him to sit and begin removing his boots and gauntlets. Jason doesn’t even bother with the lights as he picks his way back across his apartment in search of a change of clothes and some NyQuil. He does know what is or is not currently in Damian’s system, so he makes a mental note to try to get some soup into him. None of his clothes will fit him, of course, so he settles on an old t-shirt and some basketball shorts cinched at the waist.

“Hey kid,” he says as he steps back into the living room to find Damian fighting to stay conscious in the armchair and his gear and Jason’s helmet left in a heap on the floor. For a second he considers herding him toward the shower, but he doesn’t want him to end up drowning and even if it comes down to it he’s not in the mood to bathe him, either.

“Todd,” he greets him, eyes barely open.

Jason holds his clothes in his fist, NyQuil bottle tucked into his elbow. He nods toward the bathroom, leaving the medicine on the coffee table. “C’mon, let’s get you changed at least.”

“I can do it,” Damian mutters, pushing off the arm of the chair; Jason shakes his head when he glances to his gear.

“Wasn’t offering.” It’s more to check his temperature with his palm, but Jason can swear the kid leans into him as he runs his fingers through his sweaty hair. It isn’t intentional, and he doesn’t address it as he points down the hall and to the right. He makes another note to see if he actually has a thermometer somewhere.

Jason sets about digging through his kitchen cupboards for something of sustenance as he changes. There’s a cold compress in the freezer along with some ice pops, and Jason grabs one of those to go along with some canned chicken noodle soup. He doesn’t doubt Damian might turn his nose up at it, and he’s not about to try to port it off as Alfred’s. Besides, the kid might down a couple spoonfuls at most.

“In here,” he calls at the sound of the bathroom door opening and shuffling from down the hall while he pulls out one of the smaller pots. From the stovetop, he casts a glance over his shoulder to find Damian in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him. He wants for some snide remark that doesn’t come. As he pours the can into the pot, he gestures toward the couch. “Go, sit.”

He can feel Damian’s eyes on him still, so he reaches for the bright orange ice pop he left on the counter and for the knife in his pocket before cutting off the top.

“Here, eat this,” he says, passing it over to Damian, who regards it carefully before taking it from him.

“...what is it?”

“Just eat it. It’ll be good to have something in your stomach and might cool you down.” He shrugs. “Hey, I’m not a doctor. Just know my mom used to give ‘em to me all the time when I was sick.”

Damian is quiet. Jason glances away from the soup that’s still lukewarm at best.

“She did?”

“Yeah. I always liked the orange and red ones.”

Damian is quiet still, shifting on his feet. It goes unspoken that he likely hasn’t… received similar treatment while being sick before. If the condition Jason found him in is any indication, he was more than ready to try to tough it out on his own. Maybe see how far he could get before someone (other than Jason) noticed. It doesn’t sit right in Jason’s gut that the kid—because that’s what he is, just a kid—was out in the cold like this.

He doubts Bruce is even aware, gone to play Brucie Wayne in Europe for the next two weeks. He can’t imagine Dick doesn’t know. Damian can barely sneeze on the other side of Gotham without Dick knowing.

His jaw works.

“Go sit down on the couch. There’s a blanket on the back you can use and I’ll be in in a minute with some soup.”

“I’m not hungry,” Damian mutters, but retreats toward the couch regardless.

“Didn’t ask if you were,” Jason offers, a touch too cheery just for the hell of it.

He listens for the sound of rustling that is the blanket being moved, and then the groan of the cushions as Damian sits. The soup starts to simmer, and Jason ducks into the fridge for one of the last Gatorades and a bottle of water for himself. Somewhere in the kitchen he has crackers, he knows it, and he can hear Damian coughing and clearing his throat as he digs out a bowl.

“You made yourself comfortable pretty fast,” he says as he makes his way back to the living room, soup bowl in one hand and bottles tucked under his arm. Damian peeks at him from where he’s bundled the blanket around himself. Jason leaves both the soup and water on the coffee table before cracking open the Gatorade and passing it over.

A hand snakes out of the blanket cocoon for it. “This is orange too.”

“What can I say, I like orange,” Jason says. He goads Damian into taking a few sips before handing the bottle back. “Look, I know you said you’re not hungry, but can you try to eat a bit? And I need to know what meds you’ve taken before giving you anything else.”

Damian balances the soup on his blanket covered knees, keeping his head down. “I haven’t.”

He works his jaw. Then he just nods.

“Great. Eat your soup first.”

As he eats, sipping at the broth, Jason scrutinizes the bottle before settling on giving the kid half a cap full. The last thing he needs is to give the kid too much and have _that_ turn into a whole other debacle.

Damian grimaces at the taste, and eventually the two settle back on the couch; Jason finds some old, late night _Scooby Doo_ re-runs to put on as Damian’s grip slackens and he takes the bowl from him. Jason shakes his head at the grumbling when he lists toward him, and coaxes him into taking a few more sips of his Gatorade before taking the bottle back, too. He dozes, eventually drifting off beside him and still feeling like a furnace.

About half an hour later he has to dig his phone out of his pocket as it starts vibrating, and he’s met with a too bright screen and a text from Dick asking about Damian’s whereabouts and well-being because he wasn’t supposed to go on patrol tonight.

Jason smirks a little, because of course Damian wasn’t but did anyway.

Jason unlocks his phone and tries not to think about how maybe he didn’t get the older brother he wanted years ago, at least he can be the older one now.


End file.
